


Study Session

by quantumducky



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Anticapitalism, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Unlimited Tacos (Blaseball Team)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky
Summary: Pitching Machine isnotanti-capitalist, but it is learning.Pitching Machinecannotlearn.
Relationships: NaN & Pitching Machine, Wyatt Quitter & NaN
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Study Session

**Author's Note:**

> I was not expecting to sit down and write Blaseball fanfiction today, but the Pitching Machine wiki page gave me some thoughts and here I am. (Shoutout to the other person who posted a fic about NaN and Pitching Machine literally yesterday- I swear I am not copying you, lol, I saw that halfway through writing this. We are simply on the same wavelength... vibing...)

After a long and rewarding day of being terrible at blaseball, Wyatt Quitter was ready to go home and relax. They finished packing up, shouldered their equipment bag, and were on their way out of the Al Pastor Memorial Park stadium when they heard a voice from the direction of the field. They stopped and tilted their head in the direction of the sound, frowning. They’d been the last one to leave, so who else was still here? After listening for a moment, they heard the voice rise a bit in frustration- it sounded like NaN. Maybe they needed help with something. Wyatt turned around and went to see what was up.

When they walked out on the field, it was empty except for their void of a teammate- which, technically, only made it even  _ emptier- _ sitting cross-legged on the mound next to the pitching machine. The team had put the machine away for the day earlier, so NaN must have pulled it back out themself for… whatever this was. Wyatt set their bag down and jogged over, waving.

“Hey, NaN! What’s going on?”

NaN looked up at their greeting and waved back with a handful of… note cards? “Quitter! Hi!” Their face didn’t exist, of course, but they sounded like they were smiling. “I’m teaching Pitching Machine about anticapitalism!”

They slowed to a stop a few feet in front of the mound. “Uh… what?”

“See?” They held up the cards again. They were messily handwritten, presumably by NaN, and one of them was just a cartoonish drawing of Jamazon CEO As Bestos with “NO” underneath. This explained very little.

“I’m… not sure you can really  _ teach _ the pitching machine,” Wyatt said slowly. “I mean, I won’t stop you if you’re having fun, but it’s a machine.”

NaN put their hands on their hips indignantly. “It’s one of us now! If it’s gonna be a member of the team, it needs to be anticapitalist!”

“It’s not, like, a  _ person, _ though. We- we bought it for practices a couple years ago, NaN, you were  _ there. _ It’s just a-  _ ow!” _

At this point in the conversation, the pitching machine fired up for no discernible reason and hit Wyatt in the leg with a blaseball, which was definitely going to leave a bad bruise.

“What the f- I mean, uh…” They glanced sheepishly at NaN. “What the  _ heck _ was that? Did you bump it with your foot or something?”

They shook their head. “Wasn’t me. I don’t think Pitching Machine likes when people talk about it like that.” Then they looked at the pitching machine and added, “It still shouldn’t have done that, though. Hitting your own teammates with the ball doesn’t solve anything. Both of you should apologize.”

Wyatt still wasn’t completely convinced it hadn’t been a random malfunction, but stranger things had happened in blaseball, and anyway, they hadn’t come out here to argue over whether the pitching machine was sentient or not. “Okay,” they sighed, sitting down beside NaN. “Sorry for being rude, pitching machine.”

The pitching machine, whether in response or because that was just what it did, made a whirring sound and a soft “thunk” as it put another ball in place to be thrown. The important thing was that it seemed to satisfy NaN, who nodded happily and picked their anticapitalist flash cards back up. After shuffling them into order, they turned to Wyatt and asked hopefully, “Do you want to stay and help?”

They thought about it. “Sure,” they decided after a second, shrugging. They didn’t have any real plans for the evening, and NaN was a nice person-shaped glitch in reality to spend time with, even if the actual thing they were doing was ridiculous. Wyatt leaned back on their hands. “How are we doing this?”

It seemed, after a minute of watching, that NaN’s entire teaching strategy was to show the cards to the pitching machine, read them out loud, and wait for it to respond. The pitching machine never responded, unless you counted random mechanical hums and clicks. NaN insisted they did mean something, but when pressed, had to admit they didn’t have any idea  _ what. _

“So,” Wyatt hesitated to ask, “how do you know it’s actually understanding any of this?”

NaN’s shoulders slumped. “I dunno. It’s kinda hard to tell. I guess I’m just hoping that when I ask it a question and it makes a noise, that means the right answer, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” Wyatt frowned, looking into the distance for inspiration. They were pretty surprised when they actually saw some: their equipment bag, sitting next to the door. “Hold on, I just got an idea.”

A few minutes later, they were crouching behind the plate in oversized catcher’s gear, which someone had conveniently left behind, and remembering there was a reason they didn’t play in this position for real. They liked catching fly balls, not pitches fired directly towards them at like a hundred miles an hour by a machine that may or may not have been holding a grudge. Here they were anyway, though. NaN floated next to the pitching machine, and Wyatt could hear them giving instructions to it.

“We’re gonna give you a quiz now to see if you’ve got it, okay?” They paused for a second and then carried on as if it had agreed. “Great. Now, the first question’s an easy one. How do you feel about capitalism, in general? If you think it’s bad, throw the ball right down the middle to Quitter. If you think it’s good, then throw it outside the strike zone. Ready?” They paused again. “Go!”

The pitching machine pitched the ball into Wyatt’s waiting glove. NaN cheered.

“That’s right! Okay, the next question…”

NaN went through all their flashcards. Wyatt was getting sore by the time they were done. The pitching machine got every question right. Either it had taken to anticapitalism very well, or the fact that NaN kept making a pitch straight over the plate stand for the correct answer had something to do with it. They were so happy about it, Wyatt didn’t want to burst their bubble either way.

“I told you it could learn!”

“Yep,” they agreed, wheeling the pitching machine back inside. “Guess you were right after all.”

Suddenly, they were knocked back a step, and the left side of their body felt cold and tingly. They looked down and realized after a moment of startled confusion that NaN was trying to give them a hug. They smiled and patted the general area of what might have been their shoulder.

NaN stepped back and cleared their throat, maybe a little embarrassed. “Thanks for helping us with that, Quitter.”

“‘Course.” They tried to give NaN a friendly fake-punch on the arm, but their hand went right through with a buzz of static. They shook it out awkwardly and tried to pretend that hadn’t happened. “Uh- any time.”

They went back to putting the pitching machine away, and NaN followed in companionable silence until they were once again ready to leave. 

“I’ll walk you out of the stadium,” Wyatt offered. They mumbled something about how just because they’d gotten lost on their way to practice last week didn’t mean they couldn’t find their own way out, but they were already together anyway, so it was sort of a moot point. They headed down the hall quietly for about ten seconds before NaN perked up and started talking about what they wanted to bring to Party Time this season. Before they knew it, they were outside.

“Have a good night, NaN,” Wyatt called over their shoulder as they turned towards home.

“Bye, Quitter!” NaN called back, “See you tomorrow!” They turned to go home, too, in a different direction, and the two parted ways. The thing about blaseball, though, was that you never said goodbye to your teammates for very long. Assuming you were all still alive, there would always be another game tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> this has not been edited i hope these characterizations are good


End file.
